


Penthouse

by MyMisguidedFairytale



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Breaking and Entering, Chairman Election Arc (Hunter X Hunter), Gift Fic, M/M, One Shot, Returning Home, Secret Santa, Sexual Tension, pariging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-05-14
Packaged: 2020-03-04 22:01:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18821611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyMisguidedFairytale/pseuds/MyMisguidedFairytale
Summary: The night before the Zodiac Twelve meet, Ging breaks into Pariston’s home.





	Penthouse

**Author's Note:**

> _Penthouse_ was originally written and published on December 30, 2014 on [tumblr](https://mymisguidedfairytale.tumblr.com/post/106149273540/fanfiction-hunter-x-hunter-penthouse-gift-1).
> 
> Everything below is preserved as it was originally posted:
> 
> **Title** : Penthouse  
>  **Word Count** : 937 words  
>  **Summary** : The night before the Zodiac Twelve meet, Ging breaks into Pariston’s home. / PariGing, for [ayuuka](http://ayuuka.tumblr.com/).  
>  **A/N** : Takes place immediately pre-Chairman Election arc. Written for hxhsecretsanta. Inspired by [swg-skykun’s art of Ging](https://cheadle-yorkshire.tumblr.com/post/101691888785/swg-skykun-another-practice-by-the-way-i-want).

_****_ ****

**_Penthouse_ **

He opened the door after some difficulty—these modern locks were harder to crack, but luckily all of the electronic security was on the building’s entrances and not on those of the individual apartments—and flipped on the lights in the main room. Standing in the middle of Pariston Hill’s apartment, Ging Freecs called out his name. When there was no response, he shuffled further in, surprised that Pariston was out at this hour—it was already dark, but there were no visible clocks to check, and he wasn’t in the habit of wearing a watch—even though he had already suspected by the lack of aura that the apartment’s owner was out even as he was breaking in.

He made a careful exploration of the rest of the rooms, just to be sure. The apartment was spotless—there were no plates in the sink or clothes on the floor, and when he ran the edge of his shirtsleeve along the top of a table, it came away without any sign of dust. The only concession to its owner’s presence at all was a slip on the console table to a _Triple Star Cleaners_ Ging had passed further up the street.

It was exactly as he remembered it.

The apartment was decorated in a vaguely modern, minimalist style, with textured wallpaper and dark colors on the walls, and furniture with low profiles arranged around the extra-large windows, benefits of the penthouse floor, or the bookshelves that ran along the side of one wall.

He hung up his scarf, hat, and overcoat, and plugged his dying phone into a wall outlet near the console table.

He selected a book from the shelf and flipped it open, settling into a leather armchair. He was hoping the dust jacket would conceal something much more interesting than the rest of the coffee-table offerings, but it turned out the text really was a photo-journalism project across the Yorkshin continent’s parklands. He flipped through it aimlessly, replacing it after a moment and selecting another. The books, at least, were different than what he remembered seeing before. Pariston did always have a penchant for redecorating spaces like this, and Ging was sure that if he cared to look harder he would find more signs of change—different artwork in the same frames, different scents in the diffusers, different flavors of yogurt in the fridge.

Two books, a cup of coffee, and a snack later and Pariston still had not returned. Ging was debating turning in for the night when he heard a few carefully concealed footsteps in the front corridor. Looking up, he saw momentary surprise etched into every feature of Pariston Hill’s face.

“I saw the light on,” Pariston said. There was a dangerous coolness to his voice; Ging had felt it mirrored in the spike of aura when Pariston entered the apartment. “I thought there was an intruder. I could have killed you.”

Ging made a derisive noise deep in his throat. “I _am_ an intruder here. Aren’t I?”

“What are you doing here?” Pariston asked. “We expected you for the elections, of course, but I hardly thought you’d come to see me so soon…and at this hour.”

Ging shrugged. “It’s been so long since I’ve been at my old apartment, they shut off the power and water. I guess I forgot to pay the bills.” He shrugged again, and leaned deeper into the armchair, uncrossing and re-crossing his feet. “I had no desire to stay in a cold house with no running water, so I figured I would crash here. I had no idea you would be out.” And here he frowned, as if both the fact that Pariston was absent _and_ the fact that he hadn’t even considered the possibility bothered him equally.

He continued, “I was wondering how long you were going to keep me waiting.”

Pariston tugged at his tie—dark purple silk patterned with sunbursts, against a burgundy shirt and a heinous pinstriped jacket—and looked dolefully at Ging’s muddy boots, snack wrappers, and the rings of condensation left from his coffee mug.

“You seem to have made yourself at home,” he said.

“I seem to recall you telling me something similar, the last time I was here,” Ging said. “I took it to heart.”

“I see.” Pariston walked around the armchair, to the rows of shelved books and curios, and pursed his lips. Moving the books Ging had mis-shelved back to their original places, he ran a thumb idly along the spine of the book Ging had most previously been reading. “What if I had been entertaining company?”

“I would have found a motel. But I think we’d both agree the surroundings here are preferable.” While it was not to his personal taste, there was no denying Pariston’s apartment was stylish—and to Ging, it was so closely emblematic of the man himself that, with him standing there, the effect was all the more compelling.

And Pariston himself occupied the space with an easy, almost lazy air. Ging enjoyed polluting it with his presence, throwing off its carefully arranged façade, affecting it in some small way just like he did with its owner. And although they had parted on less than amicable terms, he assumed Pariston enjoyed his attempts, or else he would have been kicked out by now.

Pariston moved his hand to rest against the top of the armchair. “Well, you’re welcome to stay the night. If you want anything else, you’ll have to ask for it.”

He turned and walked away. Ging watched him disappear into another room.

He left the door open.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) Thank you for reading! I would appreciate and value your comments.


End file.
